The False Flat

CHAPTER 19

TWO GIRLS AND A PAIR OF JIMMY CHOOS

My cell phone buzzed right as I entered my house several days later, causing me to drop a binder on my toes, toes that had spent the last twelve hours jammed into low, number-crunching heels. I’d spent the whole of Monday at the office, first making binders and reviewing the portfolios of the few clients I had, then reading over Erin’s surprisingly detailed follow-up email asking if I’d arranged that cohosted group networking dinner. Which of course I haven’t, because I have no idea where to begin.

Then I completely wasted my time with Mark, a potential client who ended up being interested in what I could do for him in the bedroom rather than the office. I was having more days like this. Clients here and there from my online ads, but the effort-to-gain ratio was wicked. I could talk my face off, only to realize in the end that the person didn’t want a financial planner; they wanted to open a bank account. I felt like I was an actress who hadn’t properly studied her lines but went out onstage anyway, only to be laughed at by an audience who wasn’t fooled. If people would just give me a chance to prove myself. But getting them was tough.

My irritation completely faded when I saw that the text was from Deanna.

Deanna: What are you doing right now?

Me: Just getting home from work. What are you doing?

Deanna: Actively thinking of all the ways I can murder this guy King and get away with it.

I threw all my stuff on the kitchen counter and attempted to take off my heels, but they were really wedged onto my feet.

Me: Poison? Who’s King anyway, and why are we poisoning him?

I seriously couldn’t get these shoes off. I sat on the kitchen floor and promptly stuck my hand in something sticky—what the hell was all over my floor? The floor film gave me enough traction to get the shoe off my red, swollen right foot. The left one appeared to have permanently fused to my skin. I gave up, leaned against the counter, and picked up my phone again.

Deanna: Okay, remind me never to plan murder with you. Poison? Seriously? No one is going to want to eat at a restaurant or stay at a B and B where the owner poisoned one of her husband’s acquaintances! Now, a nice fall down the stairs ...

Me: Then you’d have to explain why he was upstairs. And give me a break. It’s been a long day and also a long time since I murdered anyone. So ... King? Is that a nickname?

Deanna: Broken toilet downstairs? He’d have to go upstairs to do his line of cocaine, right? Xavier Octavius Skrunk a.k.a. King because he looks like Jack the Pumpkin King from The Nightmare Before Christmas. He went to school with William, and somehow, they’ve STAYED friends. He’s obnoxious.

Me: Wait ... cocaine??? And pic please.

The picture came first, a side-by-side shot of a man sitting on her couch juxtaposed with the real Jack from the movie. They were identical, as if the cartoon creation had climbed right out of the screen and into her living room.

Another text came while I was still staring at the picture.

Deanna: And I’m pretty sure he does drugs. William insists he’s just European and doesn’t do drugs ... anymore. William is naive.

Me: He. Looks. Exactly. Like. That. Skeleton.

Deanna: Seriously, it’s Halloween over here ... or Christmas. Have you had dinner? You should come over if you can stomach eating with a skeleton. Okay, I’m being mean. He’s not that bad. Will you come??? Saaaaaave me!

There was no way, and I was too tired to even try to come up with an excuse.

Me: No.

She didn’t even pause.

Deanna: Then I’m coming over. I’ll see you in fifteen.

Me: What? You have company!

Nothing.

Me: Deanna?

Nothing.

Me: Are you really coming?

Five silent minutes passed, during which I bit my nails, made a mental note to file and paint them later so no one suspected I bit my nails, and then attempted to remove my shoe again until my phone pinged beside me.

Deanna: I’m in the car. Told them I had to go to the bathroom, where I briefly contemplated cocaine. Don’t eat. I’m bringing dinner.

I scrambled to my feet and hobbled around my house, trying to decide what to clean first. How was it possible for one person to make this big of a mess? I barely owned anything!

I’d just finished shoving the last armload of crap into the pantry, my faux cleaning method, when Deanna knocked on the door.

She breezed in, bringing life into my living room along with two white bakery boxes and a bottle of something pink and, I hoped, alcoholic.

I peered inside the top box. “What is this?” I asked.

“A charcuterie.”

The box was filled with sliced cheese, rolled meats, different fruits, nuts, and artfully arranged vegetables. “Did you just have this lying around?”

“I made this one earlier today. It was supposed to be for book club, but I was already exhausted. I spent the day with Mere, going over why we can’t afford our own space right now. Yeah, I’m starting to wonder why I’m still her friend. Then the bachelorette party I was supposed to cater canceled after I’d already made food. And then King showed up. I knew he was coming, but ... it’s always a shock to see him at the door. When I opened the fridge, those little meats and cheeses sang, ‘Take us!’ So I said, ‘Screw it,’ grabbed the box and this.” She held up what was indeed a bottle of pink champagne. “And I brought dessert in this box. Impromptu girls’ night.” Her face melted into slight insecurity. “I hope you’re not too mad at me for barging in.”

Excitement flashed through my body. Grant had texted me yesterday, telling me that he’d talked to Mere. Operation Sabotage was in motion. Deanna might be sad now, but she had no idea what awaited her. “You brought dinner, dessert, and champagne. You’re forgiven.” I stretched toward the dessert box, but she held it out of reach.

“Later. Why are you only wearing one shoe?”

I had completely forgotten about my shoe predicament.

“I can’t get it off. I’m going to have to coordinate all my outfits with this one, final pair of shoes.”

“At least they look nice. This one does at least.” She placed the champagne on the cardboard box serving as my coffee table. “I’ll get it off.”

After pulling some magical hand potion from her purse, she slathered my foot and finally released me from the designer footwear.

I rubbed the ham pulsing at the end of my leg. “You think I could sue Jimmy Choo?”

“These are Jimmy Choos? What size are you? Can I borrow them?”

“Obviously I’m one size bigger than whatever these are, but my mom gave them to me, so they’re probably two sizes too small.” Did my mom give me everything I have in my closet?

My stomach growled loudly, interrupting whatever she’d been about to say next. I opened the charcuterie box and drooled.

“I forgot flutes,” she said. “Do you have anything we can drink this out of?”

I went to the kitchen and came back with two coffee cups. “I’m afraid this is it.”

She rolled her eyes but took both heavy, off-white mugs and filled them.

The bubbles tickled my nose. “Why was this King guy over at your house if you hate him so much?”

“I don’t hate him. I just ...” She sighed, then crunched a sliced red pepper. “He’s trying to get William to go to Bonnaroo for his thirty-eighth birthday in a couple weeks. Apparently, Grant already said yes, so William wants to go, and he wants me to come because Elaine’s going with Grant. And King’s girlfriend Halo is going with him.”

Elaine.

“Bonna-what? And Halo? Are you serious? You’re making these names up.”

Her laughter filled the room.

“I keep forgetting you’re not from here. It’s a big festival held in mid-June every year. Music, food, arts, crafts, yoga, you name it. Everyone sleeps in a tent or their car.” Her smile was exaggerated. “We’d only be going Saturday and Sunday. One night. But still. Frankly, the fact that William is considering it makes me question our entire relationship.”

I googled it as I nibbled a piece of cheese wrapped in salami. “It actually looks like it could be fun.” I scrolled through some pictures of carefree, smiling people, all of which Deanna scowled at. “Ooh, look.” I turned my phone back to her. “You can rent a fancy RV that’s already set up there so you’re not crammed together with a bunch of sweaty people. It’s technically referred to as ‘glamping.’”

She poured more champagne into her coffee mug. “I don’t know. Glamping?”

“Glamorous camping. Like camping, but with all the amenities of home,” I said, forcing cheer into my voice.

It was kind of nice being the encouraging one. Then I took it a step too far by saying, “What if I go with you?”

She sat straight up. “You would go?”

“If we got one of those RV things. Yeah, I’d go.” Who am I?

“You could bring Chad,” she exclaimed, apparently warming to the whole idea a lot faster than expected.

The smile faltered on my face. Right. Chad. “I’ll ask him,” I said, extra cheery.

My phone jingled. I’d planned to ignore it until I caught a glimpse of who it was from, Erin. She’d sent a picture of a letter. I apologized to Deanna and read it.

June 5, 2023

Erin Westerly,

This letter is to inform you that your employment with Twin Cities Financial (TCF) has been terminated, effective today, June 5, 2023.

You will receive your final paycheck, as well as any payout for leave you have accrued while working for TCF, in the coming days by the same method(s) in which you were previously receiving them.

Your healthcare benefits will remain in effect for 120 days post-termination.

Please return all company property and vacate your desk of all personal belongings by end of day today.

Please keep in mind you have signed multiple confidentiality agreements. Please review the attached documents. Should you violate any of these agreements upon termination, legal action may be taken against you.

Expect a call by next week from a TCF human resources representative for your exit interview. If you have questions regarding your compensation, benefits, signed policies or how to return company property, please contact your representative: Al Starks.

Sincerely,

Human Resources, Twin Cities Financial

A GIF of a bedazzled Catherine O’Hara as Moira Rose from Schitt’s Creek followed the letter, with her saying, I can’t say I didn’t see this coming.

“What is it?” Deanna asked.

I handed her my phone. Erin had been fired because of me.

“Marketing master Erin?”

I nodded.

“There’s no reason on here.”

I leaned back against the chaouch cushions. “Minnesota’s an ‘at will’ state. As long as the reason isn’t discrimination, an employer can fire any employee without giving cause.”

“This isn’t fair.”

“No, but she defied Houston.” Because of me. I dropped my head into my hands.

“You’re blaming yourself, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am. If not for me, Erin would still have a job. I hate Houston.”

“I hate him, too, and I’ve never even met him. The situation isn’t fair, but you didn’t make her do anything. You didn’t even know about it. It’s not your fault.”

“But I feel responsible. I told her she’d be fine.”

“She’s probably better off not working for that guy.”

“I need to call her.”

I touched her initials at the top of the text, then pressed call. It went straight to voicemail, but I got a text back: On phone with mom. Will call as soon as I’m off! Told you, didn’t I?

I told her to call anytime and apologized twice. Like Deanna, she said it wasn’t my fault.

“I have to make this right. I need to find her a job. She has a degree. I’m gonna call Chad and my mom. They’ll know someone.”

Deanna put her hand on my arm. “Wait. I have an idea.”

I eyed her with skepticism as she nodded and looked at the ceiling, a plan percolating under her hair.

“Okay, bear in mind, I haven’t completely thought this through.” She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “Let’s do this over dessert. Do you have anything?”

“I thought you brought dessert.”

She shook her head and put her hand on top of the unopened box. “These aren’t any good. I shouldn’t have brought them.” Her face flushed hot pink.

“What’s in the box?”

She shook her head again, held the package against her. Now I had to know.

I pried the cardboard out of her fingers and opened the lid, stared.

“Deanna, this is a box of penises.”

Deadpan, she said, “They’re penisbutter cockies.”

I looked back down at the dozen penises in my lap and started laughing.

“You know that bachelorette party that canceled? Well, the bride gave me a picture of exactly what she wanted them to look like. She seemed normal when she hired me! And I took the job because I need the money for this B and B. But you wanna know the worst part?”

I was still laughing. “This isn’t it?”

“I also made cockolate-dipped strawberries.” She was now laughing so hard I barely understood her. “And I ... repurposed them ... for ... the ladies’ Bible luncheon today. A bunch ... gray-haired ladies ... penis-dipped fruit. Going to ... burn ... in ... hell.”

“That”—I gasped for air—“really blows.”

After five solid minutes of laughing so hard we cried, we composed ourselves and each grabbed a dick.

Holding the cockie millimeters away from her lips, Deanna said, “I can’t do this.”

“Why, because they’re freakishly huge and way too realistic?”

“I can’t help it that I’m good.”

“Exactly what is your talent here?”

She took the penis out of my hand and returned both X-rated desserts to the box. “I’ll save these for book club, but that does mean we don’t have a dessert.”

“Wait.” I got to my feet. “I have the perfect thing.” I ran back to the kitchen and then returned to the living room holding a box featuring our mutual boyfriend.

“I love you,” she said, and my heart flipped as she got off the couch and headed toward me. I didn’t know what to say, how to feel. No friend had ever told me they loved me, but no one had ever invited themselves over, eaten stolen charcuterie platters, drunk borrowed champagne, made glamping plans, or tried to feed me anatomically correct pastry either.

Instead of hugging me, she did something even better. She took the box out of my hands and kissed the Cap’n square on the lips.

I relaxed and realized that somehow, without meaning to (and in some cases actively trying not to), I had developed a real friendship with this woman. Ridiculously, warmth moved across my body.

A red “berry” tumbled onto the floor as Deanna shoved a fistful of cereal into her mouth and crossed her legs under her on the chaouch. (I was never gonna stop calling it that.) “You hate marketing, right?”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Erin is good at marketing, right?”

“I haven’t implemented her idea, but she’s not shy about marketing.”

“It is a good idea.” She rolled her eyes. “You made bold moves in your life. You picked up and moved, you rented an office, you signed two clients from a coffee shop because you took advantage of the situation. And now, you act like you want to throw your hands up because you’ve hit a couple bumps. You’ve barely begun!”

“Hey, that’s not fair. I—”

She shook her head. “No. I’m not letting you give up because you feel sorry for yourself. You’re the reason I’m pursuing my dream now when, for so long, I didn’t think I could. But I saw you doing it, and that changed everything for me.”

I was speechless, opposing thoughts hitting my mind at once. I wanted to be fired up by her pep talk, but she also didn’t have all the facts.

“Erin has a good marketing plan,” Deanna went on. “She just got fired. She needs a job.”

Her eyebrows bobbed.

I stared at her.

“Hire her! Hire Erin.” She’d had too much champagne.

“But, she’s in Minnesota. And my WeWork contract is up in twenty-two days. And maybe it would be easier if I just started looking for a job within an established company. It would be less stressful.” I wanted to impress and inspire, but my energy was tapped.

She closed her eyes, her lips flattening to a line. “Okay, let’s work through this. First, Erin used to live here. Maybe she’d consider coming back, but even if not, there’s remote work. I’m almost positive she’d be interested. Why else would she spend all that time practically planning your marketing event by email? Second, you need to renew your lease. You can’t end this at three months. And we are nowhere near considering that last thing. Don’t you remember Houston? You don’t need to go through something like that again. This is your business.” She stopped, her eyes glassy.

I held my face in my hands, letting her words wash over me. Deanna made it sound simple. But I thought about all the money I could lose. WeWork wanted longer-term commitments if they could get them. I couldn’t afford long term anymore. And Deanna was probably right about Erin, but if she was interested, would I be pulling her into a sinking ship? I couldn’t keep living by what might potentially happen. I needed a sure thing. And to top it off, I was not sure I could do this.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, wanting to please Deanna, wanting to be what she thought I was.